


Not Everything Lasts

by Schwa_E



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Johnlock - Freeform, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-07
Updated: 2015-09-07
Packaged: 2018-04-19 12:20:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,928
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4746293
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Schwa_E/pseuds/Schwa_E
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock and John were best friends, they had grown up together and adored each other. Two years ago John began to ignore Sherlock. Over those two years Sherlock had developed a wall, one of which he was proud of, but when the death of a loved family member occurs, his wall cracks and breaks down and when the appearance of John Watson happens, Sherlock’s world will never be the same.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Not Everything Lasts

Sherlock and John were best friends since they were children. Their mums had been close and that made the two boys inseparable. Many promises were made between the two, many of which included being best friends forever and never eating the last piece of pie without the other’s permission. Of course, these promises were all made when they were children, and promises get broken, and friendships don’t always last. Especially in the case of Sherlock Holmes and John Watson.

John hadn’t exactly meant for it to happen, not at all. He always considered Sherlock his best friend and when they started drifting apart, he barely noticed. That is, until one of the boys on the rugby team had made a rather rude comment about “The Freak.” John hadn’t realized it was Sherlock that was being referred to until it was far too late, having laughed at many of the jokes they had made. Sherlock had heard every last bit of the conversation when he was going to find John and ask him why he was ignoring him. That was when he first built his wall.

The wall didn’t come down whenever he saw his only friend making new friends, and assumingly dating every girl in the school. It didn’t come down when he was harassed and beat by people. It did, however, crumble when Redbeard died. If losing John was the worst thing in his life to happen, losing Redbeard was a close second.

A week after the passing of the beloved childhood pet, Sherlock’s wall doubled in size. He refused to feel emotion, and often ignored his friends and family. He would spend hours in his room, studying or experimenting. His room was almost bare of anything that could remind him of John or Redbeard, the only things staying was the box of Redbeard’s ashes and the Period Table of Elements poster John had bought him for his tenth birthday. Everything else was shoved in a box and stored safely away in the back of his closet.

Two years of the same thing, nothing changing except the girl that was hanging off John’s shoulder every other week. It wasn’t until the coldest day in February did anything change, and change in a big way.

The death of Violet Marie Holmes had changed Sherlock in a big way, for his mother was the only person in his life he could still feel like he could trust, and to have that person ripped from his life by some drunken idiot was soul crushing. His wall broke, crumbling completely. He stayed in his room for days, refusing to talk to his brother or father. He didn’t go to school, he kept to himself completely. He ignored the few attempts of people trying to contact him. Four days after the death of his mother, his father left to “cope” and Mycroft moved out. Sherlock didn’t care, all he wanted was his mother back.

He had lost all the people he cared about, and he truly felt alone. His world was already destroyed, and the fact that John Watson was standing on his doorstep two days after his family left did not help Sherlock at all.

Sherlock had been in the kitchen, searching for his mother’s favorite mug to have some tea when he heard the doorbell. He stopped his search momentarily as he thought who could be at the door. He shrugged it off and made his way to the foyer, wrapping his blanket tighter around his shoulders as the bottom of his sweatpants dragged on the floor. His face was tear stained and red, hair disheveled. As he passed the clock he checked the time.Ten till midnight, it read. He sighed and looked out the window, unable to see anything but a dark figure in the poor lighting.

He walked to the door and opened it some, peeking his head around to tell whoever it was to piss off when he froze. There stood the very person whom ignored him and treated him poorly for two years, the same person whom he loved more than anyone when they were children.

“John,” he muttered, staring at the boy with such an intense look. He didn’t know if he was mad he was here, but he was glad that he looked just as bad as he did, eyes bloodshot and clothes baggy. John looked up at Sherlock as the door opened and took a deep breath.

“Before you start saying that you hate me and tell me to leave, please let me say this: I’m sorry, I never meant to hurt you in any way, especially the way I did,” he started. “And I’m sorry for never apologizing until now. I wish I would’ve fixed this from the start, and I wish that I could make this up somehow. I heard about what happened, and I’m not doing this because of what happened, I’m doing this to right my wrongs. I know that I’m an arse, and I know that I don’t deserve any form of forgiveness, but I’m sorry. I want to tell you that I don’t have any regrets except one, and that is ruining our friendship. I’m so, so sorry Sherlock.” Once John finished his speech he swallowed and looked up at Sherlock, eyes broken and full of hurt.

Sherlock closed his eyes and shook his head, trying to build up his walls again before breaking down in front of John. “You left,” he whispered, “You ignored me and laughed at me.”

“I didn’t know it was you they were talking about. Not until they said your name! And I stopped. I refused to let them continue saying that,” he said. He sighed and ran his hands through his hair. “You’re right, I betrayed you, and I’m so sorry,” he murmured.

Sherlock listened to John before taking a deep breath and looking down. “This is the part where I’m supposed to forgive you and let you back into my life and then everything will be normal and perfect like you didn’t leave and hurt me. That’s how it always happens,” he whispered. I miss him, I really do, and I know that no matter what happens I’ll never hate him. He is still my best friend, and I need him now more than ever, but I don’t want to be that person who just gives in and forgives him without any thought about it. He nodded once his decision was made and looked up at the other boy and opened the door a little. “I know John Watson, and he wouldn’t do this to me, and if he did he would never do it again,” he whispered, “I’m not saying I forgive you, but I’m giving you another chance. You hurt me terribly and I don’t know if I can forget that, but I can forgive in time. You only have one chance, because I can’t do this again.”

John nodded quickly and took a small step forward, biting his lip gently. “Thank you Sherlock, thank you so much,” he whispered. He looked down then back up at Sherlock. “Can I… come in?” he asked quietly, voice cracking at the end.

Sherlock nodded and opened the door for him to walk inside, in which John did quickly. He looked down at the ground, trying to keep himself calm. Sherlock shut the door and locked it, turning to look at John. He sighed and wrapped his arms around John, burying his face in his neck. If it wasn’t for his need of a friend, he would never do this until things were normal again.

John wrapped his arms around Sherlock and sniffled. “No more secrets, friends forever,” he whispered. Sherlock nodded and sighed softly.

“Yes, no more secrets, no more lying,” he murmured. He swallowed and pulled back enough to look at John. “I need someone here,” he admitted, “I need a friend, I need to be held and told that everything will be okay, even if it won’t be.”

John nodded and smiled at Sherlock. “I can do that,” he whispered. Sherlock didn’t say anything, just grabbed John’s hand and pulled him to the living room. He sat down on the couch and pulled his legs against his chest, hiding his face in his knees. The room was completely dark, the only light coming through the door from the kitchen. John sat down next to Sherlock and wrapped his arms around his waist, pressing his nose to his curls, sighing deeply. “I’m here Sher, always.”

Sherlock nodded and leaned into John’s chest, finding that the first time in days that tears did not come to him. Instead he just curled into a ball in John’s chest and closed his eyes, sighing against his chest. John rubbed his back and kept whispering that everything would be alright, and that he was there for good.

John stayed with Sherlock for three days, going with him to the funeral and being his shoulder to cry on. He stood next to him during the eulogy and held him when they were putting her into her hole. He drove him home and held him while he cried more, both curled up on Sherlock’s bed. They were both still in their suits, both crumpled and wrinkled. After two hours of sobbing then sniffling, John called his parents once again to tell them he wouldn’t be home.

The next morning rolled around, and they were still in their suits and curled against each other. “Sherlock, wake up,” John whispered. Sherlock didn’t say anything, just curled closer and muttered something about being tired. John bit his lip and looked down at Sherlock, pressing a soft kiss to his forehead. “Things will get better, I promise. You mean a lot to me, and I don’t know how to properly tell you without sounding like a complete idiot, which I do anyway, but I’m here for you Sherlock.”

Sherlock just nodded and sighed softly. The conversation was over.

Things went back to normal, with the exception of Sherlock and John being friends. People still insulted Sherlock, and that was fine because John was always there to tell them off.

A year since the funeral of Sherlock’s mother they both got on their suits and left to the graveyard. They stood, John’s arms around Sherlock as he stared at his mother’s grave. He had gone a year without crying, and was determined not to. John looked at the headstone then at Sherlock. John released his hold of Sherlock and reached down, grabbing his hand and intertwining their fingers. “I’ve never been good at speaking my feelings, unless I’m very emotional, which you would think would be your thing, but it’s not. It’s annoying, really, that I struggle so much with explaining myself, but I guess that’s alright. I mean, you always get what I’m trying to say in the end anyway. I guess what I’m trying to say is that,” he paused, swallowing from nervousness.

Sherlock smiled and turned his head to press a soft kiss to his lips to interrupt him. He knew what he meant, he always did. “I love you too,” he whispered when he pulled away, “Now shut up.” He knew that things were different, and that this might not work and they may not be, but based on how they were as it was they would be closer than ever, and that was fine by Sherlock. Even the smallest amount of John Watson was more than enough for him. Some things do last forever.


End file.
